


Metanoia

by tippens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adults, Alcoholic Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Castiel Has Panic Attacks, Castiel Has a Crush on Dean Winchester, Chuck Shurley is Castiel's Parent, Dead Mary Winchester, Dean Has Daddy Issues, Dean Has Issues, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Siblings, F/M, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Parental Bobby Singer, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Self-Discovery, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Teenagers, There's A Lot Of Trauma, Young Adults, Young Castiel/Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 15:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14793294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tippens/pseuds/tippens
Summary: (n.) The journey of changing one's heart, self, mind, or way of living; a change of heart.Dean Winchester and Jimmy ‘Castiel’ Shurley-Novak are two young men from two different sides of the economic spectrum that find solace in each other after years of psychological trauma at the hands of the people closest to them. As the seasons of their lives unfold, different hits keep coming. Despite their relationship being put through the wringer, it stands the test of time.





	Metanoia

**Author's Note:**

> If this seems familiar, that's cause it is. I started writing this shit when I was fifteen or sixteen and it was executed terribly back then, but I love the idea. So I'm rewriting the entire story and posting it again. Past title was 'Funniest In The Garrison'.

Fort Collins, Colorado

Summer of 1995

August 

 

Dean’s alarm clock shouted and screamed, it’s jarring noise echoing off of the white bedroom walls and richocheting back to his ears. He grunted and flipped himself over onto his back. His sheets tangled around one ankle and he could swear his bed was clinging to him in a desperate plea for him to be remain immobile. Once the haze of sleep cleared a bit, he remembered who and where he was. John Winchester’s son who lived in John Winchester’s house. That moment always gave him the push he needed to get up at six AM, scrub the entire house down one room at a time, shower, get Sam ready for school, stop to get breakfast, and actually get to class.

He had mapped out the time frame years ago. Cleaning the kitchen took the longest, so he always started there. He had to sweep, mop up all the dried dirt, disinfect the counters, Windex the windows, and wash the dishes. Sam and Dean never used the plates because eating anything in that kitchen was definitely a health hazard, but someone had to clean them to get rid of the smell. He had to change the mop water after every room because it got so dirty so quick. John got mad at Dean for spraying air freshener, but he did it anyway. John didn’t wake up until an hour after they would get home from school, what was he gonna do to stop him? Wake up at a decent hour?

He said a silent prayer to a gewgaw god with hopes that John hadn’t left any used condoms or other nasty trinkets for him to clean up. The maggots shouldn’t’ve returned just yet, but as long as the swarm of flies haunted the kitchen, they could pop up at any time. 

Dean didn’t bother moving his shaggy copper hair out of his face yet. Instead, he lay more awake than he’d ever been as the word ‘ _sixteen_ ’ kept assaulting his mind. He was only sixteen. What kind of life was this for a sixteen year old? He was borderline failing most of his classes, raising his brother and half-raising his half-brother, with no real life of his own. He was young, kinda smart, and physically fit. There was no reason for him not to be in football or something. He should be on his way to some kind of sports scholarship to college, but he’d made it to his sophomore year of high school without anything to show for it. 

_Sixteen,_ he thought. _This is sixteen for me._ While he swept and mopped and scrubbed, that’s all he could think about. On a usual day, he just cleaned like it was nothing, like his home life wasn’t horrible, just thinking of what assignments were due and what to wear. But today, his mind wouldn’t ignore the fact that he was Cinderella minus the shrooms that chick must’ve been on. The quality of his life made that sixteen and a half years years feel like 8,672,400 minutes. He wanted things. Just like Sam and Bobby. They all had to deal with the lotus-eating John, but everyone else had some opportunity to pursue their goals.

John didn’t care about his son’s educations. In fact, he only bothered driving them to school for as long as he did because he wanted to get drunk and snort coke with Kate in peace. His patience for “playing taxi” - as he called it - ran out just in time for Dean to be of driving age. On his sixteenth birthday, Uncle Bobby handed Dean a set of keys. Sam and Dean ran through the Singer Salvage Yard, looking for the car it belonged to. A beautiful, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala was the only one in the lot that matched the Chevy logo on the key. It was also one of the only cool looking cars Bobby had fixed up. 

Dean was so grateful for the car. Not just because he wouldn’t have to be an hour late to school every day, but when John had a really bad fit, Dean could grab Sam and head over to Bobby’s. And if the tantrum John threw was only directed at him - it was, most of the time - Dean could crawl out of his window and spend the night in there. The car was in Bobby’s name, so John couldn’t play gatekeeper with it.

“Dean?”

He looked up from his scrubbing. “Mornin’, Sammy.”

“What are you doing?”

“Sippin’ tequila on a beach in Jamaica,” he turned his attention back to the tile of the kitchen.

“Why are you cleaning?” Sam questioned, half asleep. He knew someone was cleaning up after Kate and John and his subconcious mind knew it wasn’t their five year old half-brother, Adam, but somehow he had never been confronted with Dean The Maid until just now.

“Someone has to, have you smelled this place?” 

“Uh, yeah, Kate or John, maybe. The people who made the mess are supposed to clean it up.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Why not just let them roll around in their filth? I’m sure it’d get so disgusting, they’d clean eventually if you didn’t do it for them all the time.”

“Someone who’s gonna clean up at all doesn’t let their house get this gross in the first place. Since you’re awake, why don’t you get ready early? And reset the water heater when you get out of the shower, so I can get some hot water for once.”

“Fine,” Sam stated, leaving the room.

Dean scrubbed until he heard the shower start up, then he sat back on his calves. He looked up at the ceiling and thought to himself how badly he needed to get laid. Or run away. Or kill himself. 

At this point, he’d take any form of relief he could get, no matter how short-lived or permanent.

He got up from the floor and started cleaning off the coffee table in the living room. Red plastic cups and cigarette butts were scattered between empty glass bottles of hard liquor. A white powder covered what little wood from the table would have been visible. One glass bottle lay open on its side with a good amount of golden brown liquid inside. He picked it up and placed it upright on the floor. After some trash gathering and table cleaning, he grabbed the bottle and put it to his lips. 

The liquid burned his throat but warmed his body. And for a second that - fortunately - passed too quickly, he understood why his father and stepmother indulged in all things mind-altering. Escapism was comforting.

Adam began to wail on the other side of the house. Dean sighed.


End file.
